French toast
by AliceAo
Summary: Sherlock does something bold for his and John's anniversary but he quickly makes it up to his boyfriend. very sexy. very hot. updated and hotter than ever :P


It wasn't often that John Watson got angry: pissed off? Yes, but real anger was something he prided himself in being able to control

As an ex-captain, war veteran and army doctor, he was more than used to the high pressures that his career had subjected him to. He was used to being drafted out at all hours of the night to mend his comrades gaping and retched wounds, often without the necessary equipment from their ill-stocked stores. This would enrage John. He had the capability to save the lives of his fellow soldiers but because of the lowly funded stock pile of the military base, young lives would slip through his fingers.

Since returning to civilian life in London with Sherlock, John was able to control his outbursts and the temper that had given him a reputation as a bit of a live wire in his early years.

John often got _annoyed_ with Sherlock, every day in fact. He had become habituated to the erratic behaviour of his uncontrollable flatmate. John had become the master of holding his tongue because every day Sherlock came up with another ingenious way to blow up the microwave, or he would dissect human body parts beside the ingredients they were to use for dinner that evening and when John would try to confront him, Sherlock would bat his eye lids, drop down on his knees and give John the best blowjob of his life. After which he would haphazardly 'clean' the mess he had made with the explosives.

But today John was absolutely livid, 'young recruit' furious in fact. He climbed the short staircase, pulling himself around the corner with the bannister railing before continuing up the stairs, two steps at a time.

He pounded through the door into the living area and was stunted by the overwhelming smell of bleach and something… something… floral?

When John opened the door, his jaw dropped at what he saw, or for what he didn't see.

The worktop was spotless. There was not a single item out of place. Everything polishable was sparkling and aligned in perfect right angles to the walls, which also gleamed. Even the floor was spotless, not even a footprint to provide evidence of the massive effort. The ex-soldier rubbed his eyes with the palm of his open hands and pinched himself dramatically, half expecting to wake up in his bed with the rancid stench of rotting flesh wafting under his bedroom door. But he was wide awake, and stunned.

With wide eyes, John took precautionary steps into the sitting area and was once again left speechless. The clutter, the remains of the shattered mirror, all his papers, everything had been cleared up. There were sections of the floor that look as if they hadn't seen the light of day for years, judging by the extra dark sections of carpet in contrast to the rest of the open room. The moose head was straightened and Sherlock's violin and composing equipment had been removed from the window. Somehow the space seemed eerily empty without them.

John strode to the bookcase and grazed his index finger down the textured spine of one of the books. They had been dusted, and alphabetised. The scratch of the fabric against the ridge of his fingernail sent a pleasurable tingle down his spine. The scratch wasn't enough to catch and pull the nail like a blackboard, but just enough for his smooth nail to caress the edge sending little vibrations through his finger, like with a soft bristle comb. He smiled childishly at the simplicity of the habit he had grown to love in himself, to find something about oneself that you love is not something that happens to often with an ex-soldier and trauma doctor who often had more bad days than good.

With the initial rage almost entirely subdued in himself, he walked towards the kitchen and flicked the kettle on. He was too calm and at peace as a result of the cleanliness of the apartment and was not about to ruin it for himself by getting into an unnecessary fight with his stupid, possessive arse of a boyfriend, who couldn't even…

John closed his eyes and pushed the negative feeling aside and opened his eyes to admire his reflection in the door of the new microwave. It was stainless steel. At least his clot of a boyfriend knew this time to compensate for his crime by buying an extra expensive micro…

Wait a minute.

"Sherlooooooooooock" John called down the hall once more. He counted to ten and continued to make two cups of tea, one for himself and the other for…

"Sherlooooock"

Still no response. John paused and fine-tuned his ears to the muted but still present sound of shuffling coming from the hall.

He sighed and lifted the two cups before venturing down the corridor. He counted to ten in his head again, preparing himself to endure a bittersweet battle between infuriation and praise with Sherlock.

"I know you're there, Sherlock. I can hear you moving around." John knocked at the closed door with his knee, unable to turn the handle with his full hands.

"Let me in. I can't reach the door handle"

"I'm not in a position to either." Sherlock's voice was muffled and distant from the far side of the door. With a perplexed look on his face, John laid one mug on the floor and turned the handle, a small pang of fear eclipsed John's chest for a moment. With a deep breath, John picked up the mug again and pushing the door ajar with his forearm.

"Look, I know that the cleaning was to make up for… fooooor…"

John was awe-stricken. The determination in his voice faded into incoherent babbles and all that escaped his lips were small, elongated 'ooooooh' sounds.

The room was dark, save the glow of vanilla scented candles dotted around the room. Sherlock was lying seductively on his bed, their bed. His arms and legs were stretched outward and tied securely with what looked like scarlet silk scarves. But it was not the scarves that caught John's attention.

Before him, Sherlock was dressed in a very short, male tailored French maid's uniform. The dress was black and luxuriously silky with white frilly wrist cuffs and matching shoulder puffs, a small white apron tied around the waist bulged under the strain of the detective's concealed elongated member.

The blackness of the dress in contrast with the paleness of his skin as well as the tightness of the material gave the ridges of Sherlock's lean but toned torso sensual Greek god-like qualities.

John propped himself against the frame of the door and the weight of the tea cups maximised in his weakened grip. He opened and closed his mouth, his eyelids wide and his pupils blown into eclipsed moons.

"Wha wha wha-" John attempted, saliva pooling in his mouth, "What is all this?" John spoke, swallowing and clearing his throat harshly, his voice thick as warm honey with lust. It took all of John's strength not to drop the boiling cups of tea to the floor in a hail of shattered ceramic.

"Oooooh Jooohn, I think you should leave your questions until later." Sherlock spoke seductively deep with a gentle croak in his voice, a tone that he knew made his lover squirm with desire.

John watched as Sherlock's restrained limbs pulled against the silk of the scarves. The muscles of his toned physique tensed and relaxed in waves as Sherlock feigned to fight against the silk.

"Mmmmmmmm Jooooohn" Sherlock cooed with semi-orgasmic throat vibrations. "I've got an itch that I just can't. quite. reach." With each pause Sherlock pulled against the restraints. He pointed his right hand down the length of his body to nowhere in particular.

"Oooooh I need your assistance, doctor. Show me what that tongue of yours can do."

John whimpered his reply and melted into the wave of goose bumps that ravaged his skin, remaining only vaguely aware that he was still awake and thanked whatever higher being sent this angel, or devil down to him. All his dreams had come true at once.

With his mouth like Niagara Falls John gave in to temptation and with one smooth motion, John loosened his grip on the cups and heard in the background the dull thud of the ceramic colliding with the carpeted floor.

Without breaking eye contact with the semi-naked man before him, John dropped to his knees on the end of the bed. From here John could finally admire his very exposed boyfriend in a very compromising position. John placed his hands on Sherlock's thighs and began to massage small circles into the skin.

"Oooooooh Joooooohn, you know exactly what I like. Oh keep doing that."

Stimulated by the sound of Sherlock's voice, John moved himself up on the bed and was now straddling his boyfriend's legs. His hands were making larger circles and his fingertips played with the toned inner muscles of Sherlock's thighs. John started to wander up closer to Sherlock's exposed member and Sherlock moaned at the touch, playing to the obvious arousal on John's face.

In one motion, Sherlock clamped his legs together and John whimpered as the heat of Sherlock's cock was denied of him. John could see it, large and thick, bulging with veins, teasing him from under the thin veil of material .

Sherlock motioned for his lover to look at him and John's eyes, wet with lust, met his own.

"You won't get much done with all those bothersome clothes on you, will you?"

John looked down to his body and smirked. John pulled himself up on his knees crossed his arms in an effort to pull his shirt over his head before Sherlock's voice stopped him.

"Oh no, John. I can't have you having all the fun. It's my turn so you will do exactly as I tell you." Sherlock leaned up as far as he could, the ripples of his toned stomach tensing at the motion.

John swallowed as the silk tightened over his lover's stomach and he wanted nothing more than to rip that dress right off his succulent body.

"First you are going to unbutton your shirt." Sherlock began to instruct, a devilish gleam in his eyes.

John followed his orders and Sherlock's lips curled upward in admiration of his lover's physique. John was surprisingly toned for his height. His arms were thick and muscular and his clavicle was etched by the tightness of the muscles in his shoulders. Sherlock's eyes widened as he watched John's chest heave up and down with anticipation.

"Now I want you to lick the tips of your index fingers and thumbs."

Without question, John sucked his digits into his mouth and soaked them with his tongue, equally putting on a show for Sherlock as Sherlock was for him.

"Now I want you to pinch and rub your nipples for me."

John smirked and brought his hands up his chest and took the already hardened nubs between his finger and thumb on both sides. John squeezed and massaged his own nipples and could feel the tightness in his trousers grow harder and harder with every touch.

A moan escaped John's lips and his eyes fluttered at the sensation.

"hmnm- now. Now I want you to unbuckle your belt and take everything off down there." Sherlock's voice was no longer playful, but instead it was genuinely thick with lust and want to sex.

Without opening his eyes, John did as he was told and stood exposed and very hard in front of Sherlock.

"Open your eyes, love"

With a bit of reluctance, John opened his eyes to the sensual mood lighting and the sculpted form the light etched in his lover's skin. With the marvel of the man before him John sighed and his hand reached for his own cock, thick and solid from want.

"No- not yet. Go to the top drawer John and grab the pink bottle and the pink box." Sherlock gestured to the nightstand.

John's legs moved in auto-pilot towards the dresser and he returned to his original spot at the end of the bed with a tube of strawberry lube and, unwrapping the box, fingered a small pink nub the length of his thumb. John smirked at the small vibrator and the frankly alarming shade of pink.

"Oh you like the look of my new toy? If you're lucky I might use it on you too." Sherlock teased pursing his lips into a sultry but playful pout.

John looked up not saying a word and popped the cap off the bottle, smirking as he did so. He poured a generous amount into his cupped hand and dripped the contents onto his own chest. The liquid was cold at first but John began to work the lube into his chest and down towards his cock in slow circular motions, playing up for his one man audience. He moaned and gripped his now slippery nipples between his fingertips.

The aroma of the scented candles and the flavoured lube filled his nostrils with a heavenly and absorbing sweetness. Another wave of goose bumps spread across his body, further hardening his sensitive nubs.

Sherlock's eyes were glued to the motions of John's hands on his own body. The more he massaged the more Sherlock's own bulge began to show.

After several minutes of this with no instructions from an awe-stricken Sherlock, John climbed back onto the bed and delved straight under Sherlock's skirt. Sherlock gasped at the sudden contact and moaned as John took Sherlock's cock into his mouth, sucking it all into his mouth in one go.

Sherlock's moan reverberated through his chest and John could feel the vibrations against his lips. He moaned at the sensation and Sherlock's arms tugged against the silk of the restraints.

"Oh God" Sherlock cried out in protest as his cock fell from John's hot, wet mouth with a pop, just before John's tongue traced and lapped at Sherlock's tension-taut balls. Sherlock pulled his legs at the sensation and cried out in frustration against his own restraints.

"Oh God, John. Lower. Lower. Lower, John. Please, I beg you. Oh God."

John licked the length of Sherlock's cock and sucked the bulbous head, playing with the sensitive line of veins at the back of the tip. Sherlock whimpered sweet nothings into the air, his eyes screwed shut in an effort to stop them from bulging out of the sockets with sensation.

"Of all things holy" Sherlock jolted as John thumbed Sherlock's perineum, massaging deep circles into the highly sensitive area of his boyfriends body.

John smirked at the obscenities and reached back to where he had placed his pink friends, grabbing the thumb-sized vibrator and the lube.

He turned the small machine on and it whizzed to life in his hand, sending an unfamiliar tremor down his arm. While balancing himself on his knees, he lifted his mouth from Sherlock with a small moan and squirted liquid into the crack of the other man's ass. The coolness of the liquid made Sherlock hiss and squirm under the touch.

Sherlock heard as the small machine buzzed to life and moaned loudly as the small mechanism was pressed gently into the crevice of his ass.

"Holy mother of Zeus" Sherlock cried, tensing as the small vibrator was swallowed into the pink pucker of skin, the sound of muffled vibrations making Sherlock emit beautifully erotic noises.

At once, John returned his mouth to Sherlock's cock and the thumb of his left hand to his lover's perineum, after smearing strawberry liquid all over the areas.

"Oooooh Jooooohn, I'm not gonna make it for long." Sherlock spoke in fits of blissful absentmindedness.

"I want you to cum in my mouth. I want to swallow you whole. Oh I love the taste of you. Your hard throbbing cock. Oh god I want you to come for me right now, Sherlock." John spoke, barely above a whisper.

Returning his head to Sherlock's painfully erect penis, John pumped furiously with his mouth. His right hand pushed the vibrator in and out of Sherlock's ass and his left hand stroked the skin between. Sherlock was a mess of whimpers and signs and moans.

John could sense that his lover was close to finishing and worked the vibrator harder into his ass. With one extras hard push Sherlock cried out and long feathers of cum shot from his throbbing cock into John's mouth. John swallowed every drop of Sherlock's juice.

Sherlock collapsed into the bed, his wrists and ankles red from pulling against the restraints.

John shifted forward in the bed and gently pulled the pink vibrator from Sherlock's tight ass. he reached under the bed and grabbed a tattered packed of anti-bacterial handwipes and cleaned the small mechanism thoroughly. After admiring and rolling the object over in his hands, he firmly pressed the button and it once again flared to life. Still fully erect and yearning for release, John climbed and positioned himself on Sherlock's chest.

The younger man weakly smirked at his boyfriend and whimpered at the sight of John lathering the cool gel over the vibrator and slowly inserting it into his own tight ass. John buckled his hips at the sudden sensation of his whole body rolling in waves of mouthwatering vibrations. He thrust his hips in motion and grabbed his own cock with his free hand.

He began to pump wildly at this own throbbing member will pushing the vibrator deeper and deeper into his own body. Sherlock was practically drooling at the sight of John pounding and thrusting into his own fist. John could feel his climax approaching and he grind his vibrator filled ass into Sherlock's chest. In a spike of hormones John began convulse with orgasmic pleasure until he came all over Sherlock's chest and face. He collapsed onto Sherlock's limp body.

Both men watched as swallows and stars and other sensations floated over them in a orgasmic haze of pure bliss. John smiled at the limp mess of sweat and heat before him and clapped himself on the back for still being able to work his charm after five years of co-habitation. He urged himself up and kindly untied Sherlock's wrists and ankles from the silk and Sherlock pulled his weakened limbed into himself.

"That was…" Sherlock started

"Amazing? I know. You have already expressed that in every conceivable way known to the English language." John smirked and pulled the taller man into his chest, kissing the length of his jaw.

The reflection of words from the first night they met brought back a wave of memories and they both smiled, pulling each other deeper into the post-coital embrace.

After a few minutes of silence, John suddenly remembered what had led to this situation.

"I hope you've learned your lesson." John started, nuzzling his face into the grove of Sherlock's neck.

"Yes, Captain Watson"

After another few minutes of comfortable, sleepy silence Sherlock began to giggle in his weary haze of post-orgasmic pleasure.

"What's so funny?" John inquired.

"Thank goodness you got as angry as you did. Otherwise I would have been left like that all night."

"You little shit" John muttered under his breath, playfully poking his lover's highly sensitive ribs through the sweat soaked silk of Sherlock's now dishevelled dress, remembering the embarrassing repercussions Sherlock's little stunt would have in the morning.

"Don't think you've gotten away with what you pulled earlier on. I should have left you tied up." John continued, applying a short but sharp slap the Sherlock's exposed ass cheek.

"There is plenty of time for that." Sherlock cheekily replied, smirking as he did so.

But they never got that chance again that night as sleep took hold of both men and they both passed out in each other's arms.

Two hours earlier. John walks wearily into the kitchen of the staff room at work. He leans against the frame of the door and pours himself a large cup of coffee, rubbing his face with his free hand. "Tired, John?" Sarah chirps from behind him, making him hop with fright. "Yeah. Just had a few late ones." John replies remembering the particularly tiresome case involving the murder of a maid in a French billionaires estate that himself and Sherlock had been tackling over the last week. "Looking forward to an early night." John continues innocently, taking a large gulp from his cup. "Oh, I don't think you'll be doing much sleeping tonight." Sarah sniggered, pointing towards the group of staff gathered around one of the desks. A small huddle of giggles emerges as John stalks towards the desk and recoils in horror at what greets him. A long pink box with black ribbon sits open on the desk. Inside lies a long plastic feather duster and a leather braided riding crop in view of all John's co-workers.

"You opened my mail?" John exclaims to no one but everyone in particular, reading the small note that lay inside the box from his obnoxious, possessive git of a boyfriend.

"Oh no John, this is how is was delivered" Sarah joked, poking John in the ribs before a wave of laughter took over the small kitchenette.

John could feel his face fill with blood as he gathers the box and items under his arms and darting out of the staff room.  
He barges out the door and hops straight into a taxi.

"There will be hell to pay for this William Sherlock Scott Holmes." John mutters under his breath as the taxi glides through the city traffic.

Back at the office, thrown across the table in the flurry of John's escape is a small piece of notepaper in Sherlock's neat handwriting.

Clean me up, I'm so dirty

Happy anniversary

SH

X


End file.
